


Defunct Parallels

by hauntedlittledoll, Tarrinatopaz



Series: The Hunger of Ravens [1]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Blood, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6644632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedlittledoll/pseuds/hauntedlittledoll, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarrinatopaz/pseuds/Tarrinatopaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where the 74th Hunger Games ended with the suicides of the tributes from District 12 the Games drag on… this year brings us to the 83rd.</p>
<p>(crossposted on Tumblr at @hungerofravens)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defunct Parallels

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to hauntedlittledoll for encouraging me to actually post this. And for coming up with this AU in the first place.

Adam stood as still as he could while the anthem played. Here, center stage, it was hard to hide the tremors coursing through his hands.

At least he had Ronan beside him, although a step lower. The other boy stood to Adam's left so that the so-called Magician couldn't possibly miss the stump that existed where Ronan used to have a whole arm.

Calling what remained of Ronan's arm a stump might have been too generous; the mutt had ripped the limb from its socket.

Adam didn't think their positioning on the stage was an accident. The full view of Ronan's injury was a reminder for him (as if he could ever forget) that it was only by the generosity of the Capitol that the younger boy was even still alive.

Ronan fidgeted slightly, alternating between fisting the fingers of his hand and stretching them as far as they could go against the soft, expensive fabric of his slacks.

He still wasn't fond of the fine clothing in which his stylist had dressed him, but it was better than the last few weeks where his wardrobe had consisted of the increasingly tattered clothing he had worn in the arena and the drafty gowns of the med center. Especially irksome was the way the jacket of the suit he'd been dressed in had been pinned up rather than altered to fit what was left of his arm. He doubted that anyone needed the reminder of his loss accentuated in such a way, but here he was. He didn't want the pity from the crowd.

Finally, the anthem was done and President Greenmantle stepped out from the shadows offstage. He was dressed in a suit that was so green that it looked black when not enough light was on it.

Adam nearly cringed away. It was the same color the moss in the arena turned when it soaked up blood.

The President's wife, Piper, followed only a half a step behind him. She was also wearing green . . . not the deep black-green of her husband's suit, but still dark enough that they were obviously meant to match.

On the blood red pillow in her hands she carried the victor’s crown. A jagged, wicked looking thing, all metal and wires and broken glass.

_It's horrible_ , Adam thought as he struggled to keep his face neutral. _So much like the collapsing arena_. It took him a second, but then he realized that was the whole point. The crown had been crafted from the arena debris. He was about to be crowned with bits and pieces of the thing that had very nearly been their tomb.

Piper stopped before Ronan. She smiled for the cameras, and Ronan thought her green-painted lips were freakish . . . even here and now in this crowd of Capitol extremes. Greenmantle turned and lifted the crown carefully from the pillow. Piper passed the pillow to an attendant so that her hands were free to slot into the crown as well.

The crowd gasped approvingly when the two of them made a little twisting motion and the crown separated into two pieces... not halves, but one true crown and a lesser (if no less dangerous) circlet.

Ronan wasn't a victor. They couldn't afford to call him that--not now. Not after the disaster of the 74th Games, the very seed from which the current problem had grown.

Not that Ronan cared. He was ready to put this whole mess behind him.

Greenmantle set Adam's crown upon his head first; the cruel curve of his lips ever present.

When Piper set the circlet upon Ronan's brow, he couldn't help the slight wince as one of the exposed glass shards cut into his forehead. Blood immediately began to flow from the wound. Dripping into the stage.

Piper did not falter though, save for a near inaudible “oh” that escaped her perfect emerald lips. She quickly turned to pull the immaculate white pocket square from the breast pocket of Adam's suit and gently wiped the initial stream of blood from Ronan's face.

It took only a moment for her to be satisfied with her work of artfully arranging the blood. She was far above standing there and waiting for the small head wound to stop bleeding. That done, Piper quickly folded the pocket square back to its original shape--never once staining her own fingers--and replaced it in Adam's pocket.

The message was clear to Adam: ‘ _His blood will be on your hands if you don't play your part._ ’

He drew in a shaky breath and gave a barely perceptible nod to Greenmantle. He understood.

Greenmantle's smile widened before he turned back to the crowd and the cruel expression became a winning one.

“People of Panem,” the president began, “I give you your _Victor_ ,” he moved to stand between Adam and Ronan, “pulled from the wreckage wrought by the rebellion.” He placed a hand on Adam's shoulder. “And his _Survivor_ , who-- _against all odds_ \--fought his way free and back to the Victor’s side.” He placed his other hand on Ronan's shoulder.

Ronan fought hard against the urge to shudder under Greenmantle's touch, especially on the side where he felt so vulnerable.

“They are a triumph!” Greenmantle continued. “Panem should be proud of their stand against the rebellion. May we all follow such an example.”

The crowd erupted into thunderous cheering and applause.


End file.
